


The Jabberwocky

by wallaceandvomit



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Child Abuse, DadSchlatt, tubbo can have a little vengeance. as a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28646628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallaceandvomit/pseuds/wallaceandvomit
Summary: Schlatt is Tubbo's father. Tubbo doesn't find out until the final moments of his father's life.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 196





	The Jabberwocky

**Author's Note:**

> Jabberwocky  
> BY LEWIS CARROLL
> 
> ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
> Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:  
> All mimsy were the borogoves,  
> And the mome raths outgrabe.
> 
> “Beware the Jabberwock, my son!  
> The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!  
> Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun  
> The frumious Bandersnatch!”
> 
> He took his vorpal sword in hand;  
> Long time the manxome foe he sought—  
> So rested he by the Tumtum tree  
> And stood awhile in thought.
> 
> And, as in uffish thought he stood,  
> The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,  
> Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,  
> And burbled as it came!
> 
> One, two! One, two! And through and through  
> The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!  
> He left it dead, and with its head  
> He went galumphing back.
> 
> “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?  
> Come to my arms, my beamish boy!  
> O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”  
> He chortled in his joy.
> 
> ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
> Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:  
> All mimsy were the borogoves,  
> And the mome raths outgrabe.

Schlatt liked to look at himself in the mirror. When he could see himself, he could fit his actions and his experiences and his unruly emotions into his reflection’s body. Thick, curly ram’s horns framed his face like a painting, an oil portrait of a tyrant. Empty mustard eyes stared at him from underneath furrowed, carefully manicured brows. His vibrant, blood-red tie was done up perfectly in a half Windsor knot, his matching pocket square in a citadel fold.

Schlatt liked to see himself as others did because then he could sequester all the hurt he caused into a single form. A bad man, an evil man. _Eyes of flame_ , hardly a man at all. 

He had recognised his son when he first saw him, rallied behind the brave brothers, thick horns protruding from familiar mahogany curls. Bright yellow eyes, far kinder than his own. 

His son didn’t recognise him. He told his father, one day, sitting together in his office, that he only knew of him through tales told by his former president.

“What kind of stories?” Schlatt glanced up from the paperwork on his desk, taking a drag from his cigar.

Tubbo shrugged. “He said you and him used to be friends, but something happened. Wouldn’t go into detail, but kinda made it out that you were a bit of an arsehole.”

Schlatt stared at him for a moment, then huffed a laugh and looked away. “Is that what you think?”

His son hesitated. “I think that Wilbur was hurt by you, I don’t think you’re an arsehole. Although, banishing Tommy and him wasn’t exactly kind.”

“Tubbo, Wilbur explained to you why he was running, right?” 

“So he would be a fairly elected ruler?”

“Right, but what was his plan for the election?”

“To win?”

“Against who?”

“Well, at first it was no one.”

“Right. Is that fair?”

Tubbo slumped over on the desk facing the man he assumed to be a stranger. His nose wrinkled as Schlatt blew smoke off to the side. “I guess not.”

“No, I don’t think so either. I’m glad we agree. You’re my right hand man, you know that, Tubbo?” Schlatt sipped his glass of bourbon.

Tubbo glanced up at him. “Wait, really? I thought that was Quackity?”

Schlatt waved a hand in dismissal. “He’s a nice piece of eye candy to have around. You’re my s…” he stared at Tubbo for a moment, his eyes suffocating embers, then they lit with cruel fire again, “you’re my Secretary of State.”

Tubbo’s face sparked into a grin. “Thank you, sir. I’m happy to be in your cabinet.”

Schlatt tried hard not to glare at the kid. He finished his bourbon and focused on the paper again. “We’re gonna hold a festival. Do you wanna decorate for it?”

“A festival? That sounds lovely, sure, I’ll decorate for it.” Tubbo smiled.

Schlatt nodded. “I’ll announce it tomorrow. Go start gathering materials.”

Tubbo nodded and left the president’s office. Schlatt felt his heart twist as he watched him leave. That bastard Phil had actually done a good job raising him. He felt a lump tug at his throat. That was his _son_. He had grown up so well, he was kind and soft-spoken, thoughtful and gentle. Everything Schlatt wasn’t. 

It made his heart ache with pride.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Schlatt heard whispers in the tunnel. A voice he knew too well and a voice that grated at his ears. Tubbo was lying to him. Tubbo was working for the enemy.

His _son_ was betraying him, spouting nonsense about a pregnancy scare, lying to his fucking _face_.

He pretended to believe it until the moment they arrived back at his office, where he slammed the heavy oak doors shut.

“Uh, Mr. President?” Tubbo chuckled nervously, backing into a corner. 

Schlatt locked them with his key, then went to his desk and poured himself a few fingers of whiskey. He sat, kicked his feet up on the desk. 

“Sit down, Tubbo.” He gestured to the seat across from him.

Tubbo hesitated, then sat. Watched as the president downed his whiskey in one go, then looked at him with malice burning in his eyes. He poured himself another few fingers and repeated the action, Tubbo watching with rising nerves all the while. 

“You’re working with Tommy and Wilbur”, Schlatt finally declared, setting his glass on his desk with a thunk.

Tubbo felt his face go fuzzy, his hands following suit.

“What? No, I’m not. How’d you get that idea?”

Schlatt leveled him with a glare. “Tubbo, I’m gonna give you one more chance to be honest.”

He swallowed thickly, meeting his superior in the eyes. “I am not meeting with Tommy and Wilbur.” He prayed his lies were convincing.

Schlatt stared for another moment, then grinned. He lit a cigar, teeth too sharp for a ram holding it tight. _The jaws that bite_.

“Tubbo, do you know what I love about this country?” He stood with his words, taking a long drag from his cigar and letting the room fill with the foul-smelling smoke. 

“Uh, wh-what, Schlatt?” 

He gritted his teeth at the sound of his son using his name. 

“It has shitty foundations. It was started because of an impulsive decision, a _mistake_. But we made something good out of it, right?” He circled to the other side of the desk, resting a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder.

“Like you.”

Tubbo flinched and turned around to look at the president. “Wh-What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t matter, Tubbo. I don’t give third chances easily. But I have a soft spot for you, alright?” He sat on his desk, facing the younger man.

“This is the last opportunity I’m giving you. Now tell me, are you working with the traitors?”

Tubbo stared up at the president and shook his head, his eyes wide and terrified.

Schlatt watched him. He took a drag from the cigar and held his other hand out, asking for something. Tubbo stared at it, looked between it and the other’s eyes, before slowly, cautiously, putting his own hand on top of Schlatt’s. Before he could process what was happening, Schlatt flipped his hand over and forced the end of the cigar against his exposed wrist. 

Tubbo let out a blood-curdling scream, immediately writhing in his seat and desperately pulling away. With a well-placed kick to Schlatt’s gut, he managed to loosen the grip and stumble out of the chair, sprinting to the doors of the office, only to find them locked. He turned, backing into a corner, letting out heaving sobs and begging the other to let him go.

“You’ll regret betraying me, Tubbo.” Schlatt growled, taking a deliberate, slow step forward, before breaking into a sprint to grab his son again. Tubbo screamed and tried to dodge him, to scramble away, but he fell too easily to _the claws that catch_.

Tubbo felt white-hot pain rocket through him as Schlatt pressed the embers into his wrist again, felt rough hands grab his horns, felt tears streaming down his face. After what felt like hours, the embers died against his skin. Schlatt sighed, his eyes tired and quiet. 

“You’ve betrayed me once, Tubbo. If you do it again, I’ll kill you.” Schlatt said, as if it were the most obvious notion in the world. He released the horn in his hand.

“I’ll kill you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


But Technoblade wouldn’t hurt him.

Technoblade wouldn’t hurt him, Tubbo repeated to himself, his chest heaving as he hyperventilated in the makeshift cage. 

In the end, it took two shots. Two explosions of white-hot pain, like embers alight with burning remorse.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He had a circular scar on his wrist and streaking burns that splayed from his heart and the side of his neck.

With them, he smelled the smoke of a cigar and the spark of gunpowder. 

He was a soldier of the Pogtopian army, a spy, a traitor, and a son. 

When he saw the president, suit in disarray, tie pulled loose with a bottle of bourbon in hand, he felt a fire inside him. He didn’t listen as the man shoved Fundy and Quackity, yelling at them with slurred words and shards of glass in hand. Finally, their eyes met.

“And you”, Schlatt growled, taking a step towards him.

“My own fuckin’ son, even you turned against me.”

Tubbo froze, the fire in him dying.

“What?”

“You conspired with Tommy and Wilbur from the very beginning! Even after I warned you, even after I killed you like I said I would, you stayed true to them above anyone else! Above me!” Schlatt yelled.

Tubbo shook his head, running his free hand through his hair. “No, no, what? What do you mean, your _son_?”

Schlatt stared at him for a moment, his rectangle pupils small, dwarfed in the sickly yellow that surrounded them. Then he laughed. He laughed with mania, then fell into a coughing fit.

“You fuckin’ moron. You really never caught on?”

The crowd watched them in a stunned silence, watched as Tubbo’s eyes mirrored Schlatt’s in shock.

“You’re lying.” Tubbo pleaded.

“You’re an idiot.” Schlatt’s words slurred out from behind a sloppy grin.

“You’re lying”, Tubbo insisted, his chest starting to heave with hyperventilation.

“You’re my son!” Schlatt yelled.

“You’re lying!” Tubbo screamed, drawing his sword and bringing it through the thick of Schlatt’s neck before he could process the splatter of blood that came with the sword’s exit. It snagged on the bone, the bundles of nerves acting like rubber, but came bloody out the other side.

Tubbo panted, staring at the decapitated president.

Tubbo felt bile rise in his throat, _hot blood_ , but he pushed it down and stepped forward. He grabbed one of the horns and lifted it, looked into the empty expression of horror that played on the corpse’s eyes.

_The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!_

_He left it dead, and with its head, he went galumphing back._


End file.
